Indifferent
by maxynepayne
Summary: Two brothers meet two felons in an out-of-the-way 7-11 and, over the course of three days, become inseperably close. But what are the so-called "Saints" hiding?
1. Chapter 1The Meeting

Indifferent

A Boondock Saints/Supernatural crossover

Pairings: light fluff/slash Dean/Asexual!Connor, light fluff and slash Sam/Open!Asexual!Murphy, Asexual!Twins in a queerplatonic life partnership fluff.

Warnings: MacManus/Winchester mouth, talk of sex, blood, drinking, smoking, the usual stuff.

Chapter One(?)/The Meeting

A convenience store seems a bit cliché for a run-in location, but that is where our story begins; in an old 7-11 located on a lone stretch of highway just off Route 21. Miles from any city or town either way, the Winchesters did not expect anyone else to be in the store, especially not at the hour that they stopped in, but, sure enough, two men were also inside, far in the back by the alcoholic drinks. Dean and Sam didn't pay much attention to them; both were far too tired, and interested only in getting as much caffeine and food into their systems as possible. Likewise, the two men paid little attention to the brothers, if they even noticed them at all. Smokes, alcohol, and food if they could afford it was all they were there for, and then it was back to walking.

Both pairs of brothers made it to the register at the same time. Sam, being gentleman-like, allowed the other two to go first. The man with the bed hair and his partner mumbled a thanks in German before taking their place in front of the line. As their items were being rung up, another car pulled into the small parking lot-if it could even be called that-out front, the floor-to-ceiling windows revealing two policemen exiting the vehicle. "Shit," Dean heard the man with the messier-and-shorter-hair curse beneath his breath as he nudged his companion in the ribs, who replied equally as quiet in a different language.

The two policemen entered the 7-11 looking particularly famished. At the friends' reactions, Sam flicked his head toward them once he'd gotten Dean's attention, disguising it as a hair flip. Dean nodded; he knew what he had to do. Carefully, he bent forward and whispered, "You two in some kinda trouble, buddy?"

The elder male merely flicked his cold blue eyes at him in response. Dean nodded softly once and motioned with his thumb over his shoulder when he'd turned back to his brother. Sam tightened his jaw and shuffled off to distract the officers so the men could get away.

Just as this was happening, a fax came in through the fax machine by the out-of-date computer. The clerk apologized and took hold of the paper as it came in, frowning slightly. Dean saw the younger man's expression change when he saw what was on the paper. Frightened, the cashier lifted his head and was about to say something when the one to his left headbutted him sharply, knocking him out. Before he hit the ground, both men caught him and slumped him over the counter. Dean took their bags and shoved them at them, hissing, "Go, now. I'll take care of him."

"T'anksya, mister." The elder thanked him, his Irish accent thick.

"Aye, t'anks." The younger nodded before he was pulled out the door into the early morning.

Dean quickly set about getting rid of the mug shots, not really looking at it, just folding it and slipping it into his back pocket. He then cried out and beckoned for help in mock concern.

After the policemen had called for an ambulance, Sam and Dean slipped out before they could ask for statements and/or their names, taking their bags of stolen food with. They hadn't gotten far in the Impala when their headlights caught two men in their beams, walking slowly with their black coats bundled close about them to block out the cold air. Sam asked, "Hey, aren't they the two guys from the 7-11?"

Dean squinted, and then nodded. "Yeah, yaknow, you're right." After a few minutes, he pulled over beside them.

"Wait, Dean-"

"Shh."

Sam shushed.

Rolling down the window, Dean asked the two-who had stopped when he had pulled over-if they needed a lift. Completely in sync, they looked at each other, somehow managed to communicate through eyelash flutters and facial twitches, before looking back at Dean and nodding. Pretending to be unphased, the hunter flicked his head toward the back of the Impala with a smile. "Hop in."

"So where you headed?" Sam asked them after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

"Where're you headed?" The younger questioned.

"Idaho." Dean replied.

"Dere, t'en." Older Irishman said in answer to Sam's question.

More silence. Dean broke it by asking, "So what're your guys' names?"

"Connor and Murphy MacManus. I'm Connor and 'es Murph." Connor told him, with Murphy nodding politely.

Sam choked on his coffee, whispering "Jesus Christ," under his breath and sending "Holy crap" eyes in Dean's direction, who made a confused face. "You alright there, Sam?"

"Ahem, yeah, I'm good. Just... wrong pipe."

"Mm. So, brothers, huh? Us, too." Dean returned his attention to Connor, sticking a hand back to shake. "Dean. And he's Sam."

Connor and Murphy shook his hand. "Nice ta meet ya,"

"Likewise."

"And t'anks fer helpin' us back dere."

"Aye; dat was a risky thing ya did."

"Ah, it was nothin'. Glad to help fellow drifters out, ain't that right, Sammy?"

When Sam didn't reply, Dean hit him sharply. "Ow! Uhm, yeah,"

Dean smiled into the rear view mirror at Connor, who looked up from his brother and let slip a small smile in return.

When the caffeine no longer began to keep them awake, they pulled off to the side of the road to sleep. They couldn't see anything for miles, which had, unfortunately, ruled out a motel. The MacManus' didn't mind; "Beats sleepin' in da bushes," Connor shrugged, which Murphy agreed to.

The sleeping arrangement was two in the front seats, two spooning in the back. Connor and Murphy took the back, having done such a position many times in the past. Sam was confused as to why they weren't even the slightest embarassed or nervous to sleep so close together, and brought it up to Dean as they brushed their teeth outside of the Impala. "Don't you think it's kinda weird that they don't mind sleeping in the back, all pressed up against each other like that?" He motioned toward the backseat.

Dean frowned. "Why do you care?"

"I dunno, it's just... they're so, close."

"Of course they are, they're brothers."

"Yeah, but..." Sam made a face that said "you know".

Dean didn't get it at first, but when he did he gagged on his toothpaste. "Aww, Sammy, that's gross."

"Come on, Dean! Think about it: the way they look at each other, how they're always so in sync and seem to communicate with their eyes-"

"Do you ever stop and think that maybe they're just twins?" Dean butted in, spitting out his toothpaste. Sam's mouth opened and closed like a fish. Dean, sensing an epic bitchface coming on, rolled his eyes and turned toward the driver's seat of the Impala. "Come on, Sherlock. Bedtime."

Sam did indeed pull a bitchface as he, too, climbed back into the warmth of the car.

Everyone but Dean fell asleep quickly. Even though two hours or so had passed since they'd all settled in, he couldn't seem to shut his brain off. Too much of it was on Connor, the (seemingly) elder MacManus brother. MacManus. The mug shots. Dean rolled onto his side and pulled the paper from his back pocket, rolling back onto his back as he tried to unfold it without making too much noise. He succeeded, and with the light from his mobile phone managed to read what was on it. Weirdly, it said that they had been arrested, but their mugshots were hand-drawn instead of camera shots like they normally were. When he got down to the charges, he muttered, "Holy shit."

Serial murder and vigilantism were the only two charges, and since they weren't in jail Dean guessed escaping from prison was another. The date on the paper said that they'd escaped in 2009-the same year they were incarcerated-from The Hoag in Boston. He remembered hearing about that place; maximum security, round-the-clock guard, the best for the worst. How the hell did they manage to escape? Dean suddenly felt strange... it felt almost like admiration. Fumbling, he went to Google on his phone and looked up "the MacManus brothers". He didn't expect what he got.

They had a cult following.

But that wasn't what he was looking for. He scrolled until he found news articles and video clips. Many of the titles and articles called them the "Saints of Boondock", or other variations. As he read and watched and went farther back in time (to 1999), that feeling of admiration grew and grew until he found himself rooting for the twins. They hadn't killed because they thought it was fun; they'd simply been doing what they thought was right, what the police wouldn't and couldn't. In fact, they'd wiped out the mafia problem in Boston completely. Twice. But there was something else; the way the brothers had killed the gangsters, with their arms crossed over their chests and pennies in their eyes. Dean knew enough mythology to know what that meant. And yet, for some reason, he didn't mind it, that they had been "supposedly" killing for God. Any dead bad guy was a good bad guy in this hunter's book, and the murderer worthy of a round or two.

A hand touched Dean's shoulder, causing him to jump slightly. "Oi, sorry, Deany. Didn't meanta scare ya," Connor's low Irish tones whispered into Dean's ear. The eldest Winchester turned about to face him, ignoring the tingling in the area the sandy brown-haired Celtic had spoken into.

"It's fine. I was just, surfin' the Web."

"I saw what you were lookin' at, Dean. It's 'lright."

Dean winced, but when he heard no contempt or hurt in the words, he relaxed with an embarrassed chuckle. "You're quite the celebrity."

Connor shrugged, the moon and mobile screen light lighting his muscled shoulders with pale blue. Only then did Dean notice he had no shirt and felt heat rise to his cheeks, which he could not ignore. "Uhm, aren'tya cold?" He asked.

"Not really. Me bruthuh s'quite 't heater." Connor answered with a smile.

Dean looked over his shoulder to the backseat, to find Murphy lying there with also no shirt and a jacket laid over him, sleeping peacefully. "'Ey,"

Dean's attention was snapped back to Connor at the sound of his quiet voice. "Why don't we move this conversation outside, eh? I really needa fuckin' smoke."

"Uh, s-sure." Dean swore under his breath at his voice not remaining steady, and quickly exited the Impala as quietly as he could before Connor had time to question it.

Connor soon joined Dean on the back of Baby, pack of Marlboro Reds in hand. He offered Dean one-who refused-before sticking one between his lips and lighting it. For some reason, Dean found the movements extremely mesmerising, especially the action of the Irishman flicking open his lighter and lighting his cigarette, the flame just bright enough to light his face and some of his hair, casting mysterious shadows. It also caught the flecks of deep and light blue in his eyes, warming them and making them not seem as cold as they'd been at first.

It took a moment for Dean to realise that those pretty eyes were watching him.

Flustered, Dean blushed wildly and lowered his face so quickly that his neck popped. He heard Connor laugh lightly and the metallic snap of his lighter being closed. "'S alright, Deany. Not t'e first time I caught someone giving me t'at look."

"What look?" Dean muttered, cheeks still red.

Another laugh, this time brighter. It made something twist in Dean's gut, and he swore again.

"New to it, ey? Crushin' on men?"

Dean whipped his head in Connor's direction, embarrassment tenfold but defenses twice as much. "Excuse me?!"

"I t'ought as much."

"Woah, woah, whatever you're trying to imply here, it ain't what it seems. I'm not-"

"-gay?"

"No! I'm not!"

"So bi, den. It's alright, Dean. I dun mind."

Blushing and frustrated, Dean simply huffed and crossed his arms, pouting so much like a child that Connor couldn't help but laugh once more.

After a minute of smoke-filled silence, Connor questioned, "What's et like?"

"What's what like?" Dean asked in return, still upset.

"Sex?"

This caused Dean to snap out of his childish ways and look to him, expression one of shock. "Come again?"

"Yuh heard me da first time,"

"You-" Dean readjusted himself so that he was facing the Irishman more fully. "You've never had sex?"

Connor simply shook his head, blowing out a stream of smoke through his nose, countenance completely blank, no embarrassment of any kind. Dean was dumbstruck. "How old are you?"

"Da fuck's that got to do wit anyt'ing?"

"No, I mean-never? At all? Not even a little?"

Head shake. "Never really was interested."

"In sex?"

"Is t'at really hardta believe?"

Dean stared, and then made a scrutinising expression. "You ever, uh..." He whistled and made the hand motion for jacking off.

"Nope." More smoke out through his nose.

"Jesus, man, how are you alive?" Dean ran a hand through his hair with a harsh exhale.

"Jesus, liquor, smokes, and me brudder."

At the mention of Murphy, Dean chuckled. "Y'know, Sammy thought you two were gay."

"We toldya we were siblin's."

"That's not what I meant."

Connor turned and almost choked on his lungful of tobacco smoke. "Are yu fuckin' with me?"

Dean laughed. "Nope! He was really convinced, too! But I told 'im you guys were probably just twins, not queer incestual lovers or whatever the fuck,"

Now this time Connor laughed. "Aye, we are twins."

"I knew it." Dean laid back on the trunk, left hand on his forehead. "Who's the eldest?"

Connor joined him, flicking his mostly filter cigarette to the gravel and stepping on it before doing so. "Dunno. Ma never told us."

"You don't know? And it's been what, thirty-somethin' years?"

"Good guess, mate," Connor lit another smoke.

This time, Dean noticed the tattoo inked across his hand. "Latin," he blurted. "Veritas?"

"Justice," Connor smiled.

"I know," Dean huffed.

Connor put his lighter away and turned his face to the sky. "So many stars out t'night. Et's like you can see t' 'ole universe."

But Dean wasn't focusing on the universe; he was watching Connor again, looking over the other tattoos he was now becoming aware of: the Virgin Mary and baby Jesus on his neck, the Celtic cross on his forearm, the name "Murphy" on the right side of his chest, and something on his back that he couldn't see enough of to know what exactly it was.

And then there was everything else. His cropped hair that stood up almost like Dean's own; his softly tanned complexion, with pinkish cheeks and cute-oh God did he just think 'cute'?-lips; stubble and peach fuzz and a little mustache and goatee; leanly muscled body (Dean still denied a crush) that boasted power despite its appearance; and then there were his eyes. Powder blue with deeper and lighter blue flecks that swirled and hid only to pop out in the most heartbeat-skipping way... Dean found himself smiling a little and sighing just the smallest bit. With the stars reflected in his eyes, Dean thought Connor was easily the most breathtaking sight he'd ever seen.

Realisation hit Dean in the face like a slap from an upset hooker; he was... attracted to this man, at least somewhat, in some way. His eyes widened and he suddenly felt awkward and nervous. His insides twisted and churned, his cheeks burning furiously and heartbeat speeding up. Quickly, he turned his face toward the stars and tightened his jaw.

He prayed to God that Connor had seen none of that.

Dean awoke later that morning to find that both he and Connor had fallen asleep on the trunk of the car. He also woke to find that not only had they slept there, but they were practically cuddling, with Connor's arms wrapped around him and Dean's coat over them both. His eyes widened considerably, at both the fact that they were in this position and the fact that he really fucking liked it.

A minute passed where he did nothing but stare in shock. This minute allowed for Connor to wake up, as well, arms tightening around Dean and pulling him closer to his bare chest. Dean's face brightened to the point of cherry pie red. Subconsciously, he enjoyed the way the Irishman smelled. Blue eyes fluttered open and smiled down at Dean. "Mornin', Deany."

"Uhh, m-morning...?" Dean stammered in reply. God they were so freaking close. The hunter wanted to squirm away, but his body stayed put. Connor smiled brightly before sitting up, taking Dean and his coat with him. "Fucking 'ell, it's cold. Yuh don mind if I borrow yer coat fer a bit, doya, Dean-O?" He requested even though he was already putting it on.

"Uhh, no." Dean muttered, squashing the thoughts that said he looked really fucking cute in his green jacket, even if it was too small.

Hopping off the back of the Impala, Connor stretched his arms above his head, cracks and pops resounding from his back, shoulders, and arms. After that, he took out a smoke and lit it before making his way to the backseat of the Chevy, Dean watching frustrated all the while.

When he got back into Baby, Sam was already awake and looking up at Dean expectantly. Dean frowned. "What?"

"Can I talk to you for a second privately." Sam said between his teeth. It was not a suggestion. Frowning deeper, Dean grabbed his toothbrush and a change of clothes (it was actually just a shirt) before joining Sam a little ways away from the car. "What-"

"When I got up this morning, I found YOU and our serial killer buddy over there CONNOR cuddling like a teenage couple on the back of the Impala!" Sam jabbed his finger in his brother's chest, expression one of anger.

Dean sucked air in through his teeth. "Shit, you saw that? Damn..."

"Are you not going to ask what I mean by 'serial killer buddy'?"

"No, 'cuz I already know. I looked 'em up last night." Dean gave Sam the flyer.

Sam smacked it out of his hands. "I already fucking know! I read the news article on it when they first escaped!"

"Oh, well then why are you telling me?"

"ARE YOU-" Sam closed his eyes and took deep breaths. After a second or two, he opened them and stated, "We can't help them anymore."

Dean felt his heart shatter. "What? Why?"

Seeing the expression on his face-utter fucking despair-Sam's countenance took on a quizzical look. "Why do you care so much?"

Now it was Dean whose mouth opened and closed like a fish. "Ah, I uh, well, eheh..." He smiled his famous "I have no good answer" smile, cheeks turning red and his head lowering with a shrug. Sam scrutinised him judgingly, unsure of why his tough-guy brother was now acting like a nervous teenager.

"Dean?"

"I wanna keep helping them. At least until Idaho, alright? We only got a day's drive left, less if we leave now."

Dean's tone had changed; it was sad, small... heartbroken, even. Sam didn't like it at all. "Dean?" He asked, softer this time.

"Don't do it, Sammy. Don't ask me what's wrong."

Sam closed his mouth.

"Aye, Dean! Can I borrow ye fer a second?" Connor's voice called. Dean mumbled a "Thanks, Sammy" before he turned and made his way to Connor, who was asking about borrowing something. Sam combed his fingers through his hair, exhaling exasperatedly while he walked back to the car.

END OF CHAPTER ONE.


	2. Chapter 2The Journey

Chapter Two/The Journey

They found an actual motel in Nevada, in a city on the tip of the state. Due to a detour, they had to take the long way around to Idaho; not that Dean minded, but Sam certainly did. "You said 'one more day of driving, Sam.'" He hissed in Dean's ear as he brushed his teeth.

Dean rolled his eyes. "You think I got control over the road? Stop being such a bitch about it,"

Sam scowled, but said nothing more. Dean was glad; he didn't want to have to explain more on why he liked having the twins around, Connor especially.

This thought made him wince. Right; still coming to terms with the fact that he was... attracted, he guessed? to the Irishman. Hopefully this was just a thing he was going through, and not something permanent. He prayed to God it wasn't permanent.

Sam awoke to the sound of the motel room door opening. He tightened his grip on the gun beneath his pillow and looked toward the slice of light in front of him. Murphy, hearing Sam move, twisted his upper body in his direction. "Oh, evenin', Sam. Just goin' out fer a smoke," He lifted his pack of cigs and waved them, a smile cracking open upon his face. "Careta join me?"

For some reason, Sam wanted to. There was something about that smile that just... pulled him in. With a nod, he left his gun and swung his feet out onto the floor, his massive six-foot-four frame made even more so by the short length of the mattress he slept upon.

After putting on shoes and a coat, Sam joined Murphy outside their motel room, he and Murph leaning back against the wall casually. Murphy lit his cigarette after offering Sam one-who declined-and dragged long and hard, blue eyes deep and thoughtful. Sam had a feeling Murphy had more going on inside his head than anyone knew, except for maybe Connor. He didn't realise that he was staring until-"'Ey. You awake, dere?"

Sam blinked, blushing a little before smiling slightly. "Yeah! Yeah, sorry, just... dazed off."

"I could tell. What were ya t'inkin' about?"

Now Sam was conflicted; lie, or tell the truth? "I was just... noticing how you seem to have a lot going on up here," He tapped his skull to show.

Murphy smiled a little and laughed. "Aye, I do. Connor says I t'ink too much."

"Yeah, Dean does the same."

"Yaknow, 'e likes me brother."

Frowning, Sam cocked his head a little to the side. "What do you mean?"

The still-burning cigarette received its last drag before being flicked into a puddle by Murphy, who lifted his face to the Sasquatch-like man to his left, saying nothing more. Sam frowned further, but didn't press the twin on the subject, subconsciously deciding to keep tabs on Dean's behaviour around Connor.

They stood beside each other silently, Murphy lighting another cigarette. Sam watched him this time; the furrowing of his brows in concentration, the flickering of the flame in his pretty blue eyes, the pink of his cheeks from the cold, the pursing of his soft-looking lips as he expelled smoke from his lungs, the cute locks of chocolate brown hair that fell on his forehead and were periodically brushed to the side, the long, tattooed neck that in the day was hidden behind a turtleneck but at night was allowed free, the wiry body with a tattoo of a name on the chest across the heart, a different name opposite, the loose boxershorts-

Sam stopped himself with a jolt and quickly looked away from the man, cheeks darkening considerably. He crossed his arms over his chest and shivered the slightest bit; no matter how many times he'd been in frigid places, he would never get used to the cold. "Ya look like yer freezin'," Murphy speaking caused Sam to flinch and his face to turn red again.

"Yeah, I don't do cold."

"Me 'n Conn, we lived in Boston, so we got usedta it."

Sam nodded, still not looking at the Irishman who a moment ago he'd been looking at in a whole new light. He heard feet shuffling, and then almost jumped at the feeling of an arm encircling him and warmth radiating onto the right side of his body through his coat. "Uhh, Murphy-"

"That better?"

A hand slid up and down Sam's left upper arm, the friction both warming him and causing tingles to shoot through the area. He tried to rationalise his flusterment as his not cleaning the pipes in a while, but he knew that wasn't the case. "I-I, y-yeah, that's-thanks, Murphy."

"Aye, no problem."

As much as he didn't want to, Sam turned his head towards the shorter male, still feeling the blazing heat in his cheeks. From the angle he saw him at, everything was different; good different, but different all the same. He seemed... lonely. The kind of lonely where you're surrounded by people who love and value you but don't or can't relate to the things you feel. Sam felt his heart ache; God, he knew that feeling. He lived that feeling everyday. In a moment of bravery, he hesitantly put an arm around Murphy's shoulders, hand coming to rest on his strong right shoulder. The hunter felt the muscle tense, and then relax, and then welcome the weight and touch. To his shock, Murphy cuddled in closer to him and transfered his arm from his shoulder to his waist for comfort. Sam's cheek flared red when the warm, slightly rough hand came into contact with his skin. The other hand came up to his own and pulled it down across the bare chest of the twin to the opposite shoulder, where it clasped it. Sam was surprised at Murphy's actions, and lowered his countenance to him.

To his surprise, he wasn't blushing or embarrassed at all; just smoking his cigarette, expression blank if thoughtful. The lighting cast a soft glow on his face, throwing mysterious shadows that, combined with the angle, made Sam think Murphy was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in a long, long while.

The thought should have surprised him, but, for some reason, it didn't, even though only that morning (or yesterday morning, whatever) he'd wanted to get rid of the twins. Now he never wanted them to leave. "Sam," Murphy's soft voice broke Sam's thoughts and brought him back to reality.

"Yeah?"

"Do ya want ta go inside? I'm fucking freezin' my balls off,"

"Uh, sure, sure, yeah." Disappointment was clear in his tone, which made him wince. No way Murphy hadn't picked up on that.

Inside, Sam missed Murphy's warmth. He could still feel the ghost of his hand on his side, which helped, but not by much. Taking off his shoes, he glanced over at Murphy, who was doing the same, and almost audibly sighed at the rippling of muscles under the skin on his inked back as he removed his robe. When Murphy began to turn toward him, he flushed and looked back at his shoes, which he'd forgotten all about. Once they were gone, he slid off his jacket and climbed into bed, glad that the sheets hadn't turned completely cold yet.

Suddenly, the bed dipped behind him and the duvet lifted with a breeze of cool air. Someone climbed into bed with him and wormed about until they were spooning, they being the bigger spoon. He knew almost immediately that it was Murphy, due to the surprising heat shining from his body and warming his back. He flinched when a hand touched his side, causing it to retreat a little, but when it received no further resistance it continued on its journey around Sam's waist, settling on the far left side of his stomach. Sam shivered when he felt it, and also at the warm and cool breath on the back of his neck. Jesus, he'd never felt so nervous or relaxed before. But God, did he love it, the comfort, how right it felt.

And never before in his life had he ever wanted to kiss someone more than he did at that moment.

But no. He didn't want to ruin this, what they had right then. So he stayed put, only moving to take Murphy's right hand-the one on his stomach-in his own, and to smile when it clasped his tightly.

Right before he fell asleep, he heard a flutter of wings.

The sound of Sam's watch going off made Dean groan with a swear mixed in. Grumbling, he rolled out of bed and got up to turn it off, yawning and stretching the muscles of his upper body. When he was halfway there, he rubbed open his eyes and stopped with a tiny "Oh my God."

Sam was not alone in bed.

The extra person in bed was a man.

The man was Murphy.

And they were so close.

"So you saw dem too, ey?" Connor questioned from the kitchenette in the other half of the room. Dean spun on his heels at the sound of his voice. Seeing the Irishman brushing his teeth in nothing but a pair of unbuttoned and unzipped jeans caused Dean to choke on his spit momentarily, but he quickly regained himself and answered, "Ah, yeah. I figured he'd take a liking to you guys eventually."

"Aye, I bet he took more'n a 'likin'' to Murph dere."

"Yeah."

Connor took the toothbrush from his mouth and spit, eying Dean deductively. Dean felt himself blush under his gaze, his body tingling for a moment before it faded away when Connor asked, "You look tense, are yuh alright?"

"Yeah, of course, why wouldn't I be?"

"Maybe because ya like me and ya can't deal wit' it."

For a second, Dean felt the world slip out from under his feet. "Wh-what? Come on,"

Suddenly, Connor's expression turned to one of a shark about to attack its prey. He stalked over to Dean and leaned in close to him. For a while he did nothing, but then he kissed him, much to Dean's shock and bewilderment, roughly. The hunter lifted his hands, unsure where to place them, before gripping the back of Connor's hair and wrapping the other around his waist, pulling the vigilante tightly against him. He kissed longingly back and moaned slightly, only to have Connor pull back which caused him to whimper and the other to chuckle. "See," he breathed, "I was right."

Dean was unable to respond; he was breathing heavily, eyebrows dipped, eyes half-lidded, and mouth open a bit. He was blushing, but Connor was not, which drove him crazy. All he wanted to do was kiss him and take him right then and there over the dining table, but before he could do anything the sneaky Irishman spun out of his arms and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving him hot and bothered with a half-tent in his boxers.

About seventeen minutes later, Sam woke up, feeling unbelievably happy and rested. Cuddled in his large arms was Murphy, still sleeping and looking really fucking cute. He smiled wider and unknowingly began to pet his hair, and then his shoulder, and then his arm, and then his side. When he reached his hip and upper thigh, he stopped; he probably shouldn't be doing that, as he was practically molesting him in his sleep already. But everything about Murphy begged to be touched right now before he woke up, especially those cute little lips that were so soft-looking and the lean thigh that he had his hand on now-

Murphy waking up caused Sam to jerk his hand away from that area of him and went back around the upper part of his body, already feeling disgusted with himself even though he hadn't done anything. But Murphy's eyelashes fluttering open and those beautiful blues lifting to Sam's own hazel ones and Murphy's expression visibly brightening when he saw him made the younger man feel that much fucking better. "Mornin'." Murphy greeted with a small smile.

"Ahh... good morning." Sam replied, voice soft. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach and his heart skipped a couple beats in his chest. His bare chest, he came to notice, as was Murphy's, and both were only wearing boxers, their legs tangled in each other's. This realisation made him blush and smile nervously. "Uhh, maybe we should..."

"In a bit," Murphy told him, pressing his forehead to Sam's broad chest and pulling his lower torso closer. Sam gulped and did his best to ignore the tingly sensation travelling down to his groin at the friction of Murphy's thigh between his legs. He closed his eyes and bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. "Murphy, I really think we should-nngh!"

Murphy moved and slid his thigh upward, bumping and grinding against Sam's now growing erection. "Fuck."

Even though Murphy's head was down, Sam could feel him smirk, and then heared it when he spoke. "My bad, Sammy boy."

"Yeah-right." Sam shifted his hips as much as he could from Murphy's leg, but the twin would have none of it. He grabbed Sam's sides and pulled him against him, gasping in shock at the sudden pleasure rushing through his inexperienced body. "Jesus fuck," he gasped.

"What?" The younger Winchester tried not to groan. "Never had a boner before?"

"No," Murphy began, "never hada reason to."

This made Sam stop and look seriously at him. "Never?"

Murphy shook his head. "Es that bad?"

"No, it's just-never? Not even," Sam whistled and made the hand motion for jacking off.

"No. Me'n Connor, we're, what's it called..."

"Celibate?" Sam offered.

"No... asexual, dat's it. Not really interested in de 'ole, shagging business."

"Then, why're you..." Sam frowned.

Murphy shrugged. "Never said I didn't wanta try, just dat I'm not interested usually. And ya really, really make me wanta try."

What he said and a roll of his hips turned Sam on even more, and he groaned with a toss of his head back. "Fuck, Murphy. What if they see us...?"

"Den they'll just hafta mind their own goddamn business," Murphy pressed harder and whined, fingernails digging into the skin of Sam's hips as he felt an intense heat gathering in his abdomen. "Oh my fucking Jesus Sam."

When Sam heard that he moaned; he was going to be the reason for this man's first orgasm, and that was really fucking hot. With a hiss and a low groan, he thrusted harder against him, so badly wanting to do more but not wanting to overwhelm the inexperienced male. Murphy's mouth fell open as he rutted faster, his breathing becoming panting as he neared his climax. "Sam... Sam, oh my God..."

"Fucking Christ, Murphy... sshhit!"

Murphy's hips jerked erratically before he arched outward and came hard with a scream that became a whine as he rode out his orgasm slowly. Sam grunted and clutched at the sweaty back beneath his hands as he came afterwards, moaning "Murphy," as he did. They relaxed and slumped against each other, sweaty, tired, and still on the fringes of their orgasmic high. "Holy fuck," Murphy breathed.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, "and that's not even all of it."

"You're fuckin' wit' me! Dere's more?" Murphy questioned.

"You really don't know? Jesus Christ."

"I toldsya, we were never interested, so we really didn't pay much attention."

"God do you even know how hot you sound right now?" Sam pulled Murphy closer and snuggled with him.

Murphy smiled and did the same, but kept his face level with Sam's. He stared into his eyes for a moment, and then kissed him. Sam responded immediately and pressed his lips harder onto the other's, gripping him tightly and his eyebrows dipping. It felt a million times better than he had imagined, and even more so because Murphy had been the one who initiated it.

They kissed for the longest time, running hands over skin and through hair and nipping with teeth at lips and tongues. When they pulled away finally, they were both slightly aroused again. Murphy laughed breathily. "Are ya up fer another round, Sammy boy?" He asked.

Sam smiled and blushed a little. "Sure."

Dean hissed at the raging boner pressing painfully against his boxer shorts. Hearing Sam and Murphy do half the do in the next part of the room had done nothing to bring it down, and since he'd also heard that Connor and Murphy were asexuals and not interested in sex-well, Murphy being the exception as he was curious about it-it had only made his hard-on that much harder. All he could think was 'fuck my life' over and over as he banged his head lightly against the wall beside the bathroom door. Figures the first guy he likes is asexual and also the biggest tease on this goddamn motherfucking planet. A loud whine came from the sleeping area, followed by a "Fucking fuck! Murphy!" and a gasp. Dean covered his ears, squeezed his eyes shut and hit his head against the bathroom door. It opened after the fifth bump, and he fell in. He caught himself on the sink in time to mutter, "I wouldn't go out to the beds if I were you."

"Wh-" Connor was cut off by a cry and a moan, and then a vulgar curse. This caused him to chuckle, "Murph, you little dog," beneath his breath. He stepped back into the bathroom and silently closed the door, much to Dean's frustration.

"Uhh, Connor, I was kinda hopin' to-"

"-take care'a dat boner ye got t'ere?" Connor finished for him, not even trying to hide his smirk as he flicked his head at Dean's super-obvious erection. Dean pulled a face and shifted where he stood, trying to hide it or at least make it more comfortable, but it didn't really work. So he resorted to anger and blaming. "Yaknow fuck you, Connor, it's your fucking fault I have this!"

"I know. T'at's why it's funny." The elder man laughed. Grumbling, Dean sat on the lid of the toilet and shifted again, sighing when some pressure was relieved from his boner. Connor, seeing this, quirked an eyebrow and commented, "It looks really uncomfortable t' 'ave onea dose."

"I don't fucking believe that you've never had one." Dean rolled his eyes.

"I haven't. Not even mornin' wood."

"Ahh, fuck you." Dean spat. When he was teased, he got horny. When he got horny and denied relief, he got irritable. When he got irritable, he got hostile. The circle of Dean Winchester horny version, everyone. This was Dean now, and Connor fucking loved it. However, he also loved normal Dean, so he knew he had to help him out in some way. Not sex, but somehow.

He went over to him and sat right on his lap, facial features twitching at the feeling of Dean's erection hard against his ass. "Uh, Connor, what're you-"

"Shut yer 'ole and enjoy the ride, motherfucker. I'm only gonna do this once, so ya better 'ave a good memory."

Dean frowned, but was soon gasping as Connor began to roll and dip-dive his hips on his lap, rubbing and grinding against his erection in the most delicious of ways. "Jesus fucking Christ!" He cried, placing his hands on Connor's hips. Connor let that slide-along with his hips-for now, but soon took revenge on it by only letting Dean look at but not touch any part of his body except for his hips. "Ohhh fffuck, Connor. Ahh,"

The lap dance was really good on Connor's part, except that he was almost uprooted a couple of times by an overly excited Dean. After about ten or eleven minutes of figure-eights, rolls, grinds, slides, brushes, ruts, and all other lap action, Dean came with a cry of Connor's name and an upward jerk. Huffing a laugh, Connor got off of him and spun a one-eighty, bowed, said "You're welcome." and then left, leaving behind an angry, pleasure-blurred Dean with cum all over the inside of his boxers. "Fuck you, Connor."

END OF CHAPTER TWO


	3. Chapter 3The Ending

Chapter three/The Ending

Idaho was a nice place. The weather wasn't too cold or too hot, and everyone seemed friendly.

They stayed at a hotel the third town in from the southern border, as it was pretty cheap considering how it looked. And besides, the Winchesters wanted to do something nice for their last day with the MacManus'.

Outside in the city, there was a fair in town, so they all went. Sammy had to hold onto all of the money and give it out sparingly, since Dean was a sore loser and all of the games were rigged. However, on the first try, Dean won an AC/DC stuffed bear, much to his joy. Sam smiled at his reaction-jumping up and down, practically, and showing it off to Connor. It was then that he noticed Dean wasn't wearing a jacket like he usually was. He then noticed that Connor was wearing a green coat that looked suspiciously like Dean's. And then he realised it was Dean's, and smiled even wider. "Here,"

Sam looked to his left and was confronted with a large cotton candy cloud in his face, with Murphy standing behind it holding his own. He took it and thanked him, turning back to Dean and Connor, Connor now chasing Dean around with a pink princess streamer hat and trying to get him to wear it. "Dey look happy, don't they?" Murphy asked, biting into his cotton candy.

"Yeah, they do. Dean, he looks happier than I've ever seen him. Ever." Sam answered. "Hell, I'm happy. I feel great," he turned to Murphy with a shy smile, "thanks to you."

Murphy smiled a little in his usual way and bumped him with his shoulder, causing him to laugh and return the favour. The elder man rested his head on said shoulder and slowly ate his cotton candy, he and Sam watching Dean tackle Connor to the ground, his pink princess streamer hat half-crushed and missing all but two of its ribbons. When Dean straddled Connor and pinned him to the ground, Sam thought he might have to step in, but then Connor reached up and kissed the eldest Winchester, and he rolled his eyes and stayed where he was on the fair bench beside Murphy.

Eventually, they were kicked out for loud and obnoxious behaviour and spent the rest of the day store-hopping and eating artery-clogging food until they went back to the hotel and collapsed on their beds and watched the tellie before sleep pulled them away.

Dean awoke first around midnight that night. Usually, when he was with Connor, he could fall asleep and stay asleep until morning, but that night something was different. The junk food, probably. But his body felt fine. What was it, then?

A light settling around him caused him to frown and shift about in Connor's arms. What he saw when he'd settled he couldn't believe.

Connor had fucking wings.

Glowing, shifting, colourful wings of orange, white, and green. He almost gasped at how beautiful they were and at how confused he was. Connor had shown no signs of being an angel-except for maybe his asexuality, his strong Catholic beliefs, and the whole "killing for God thing", but other than that, nothing. So how does he...? "I was hopin' yuh didn't hafta find out, but I guess I wouldn't be tellin' da truth if I didn't." Connor mumbled.

Dean's head whipped down to his face, his expression confused and heartbroken. "Connor, what... what is this?"

The Irishman smiled. "I'm a saint, Dean. A warrior of good. Me an' Murph, we were chosen to kill all who are evil by God. It was only a year ago t'at we got dese." His wings fluttered slightly, the colour shifting and filling Dean with a wave of peace and strength.

"So, you're not an angel?"

"In some aspects, I suppose we are. But overall, no, we ain't."

Something stabbed sharply at Dean's chest, and his countenance contorted into one of pain. It... it was heart, he knew it was. It was trying to reject this invading feeling, this emotion; love, love that his heart was sure didn't belong there. Connor placed his left hand on the hunter's face and smiled a little sadly, leaning forward and kissing him. Dean slowly wrapped his arms around him and swallowed down his cries of pain as his heart began to lose the battle with love. Connor shifted so he was atop him. Orange, white, and green light brightened the room and cast a heart-shaped glow over the two intertwined men, Connor's wings fluttering and standing almost straight up. Beneath his eyelids, his eyes were glowing with a smoke-like mist that was the same colour as his irises, and the tattoos on his hand and arm-"Veritas" and the Celtic cross-had the same mist coming from them, except black. With each passing minute their lips remained in contact, he shined brighter and brighter, and Dean's heart pumped erratically and in such a familiar way that he knew if Connor ever left him he would never be the same.

Soon, Connor was a brilliant star, and was so bright he was starting to burn. "Dean, Dean we gotta stop, it 'urts." He pulled away from the younger male beneath him with a gasp.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean breathed heavily, eyes shut. After a while, as the light began to fade, he felt tears run down the sides of his face and huffed a sad laugh. "What?" Connor questioned, expression one of concern.

"Jesus Christ, it's gonna blow when you're gone. You really know how to make an impression, Conn."

Connor was silent a moment, and then muttered, "Who said I 'adta leave?"

Dean sat up quickly, expression one of hope and disbelief. "What'd you say?"

Both of their faces mirrored each other's, Connor about to reply when Sam's voice rang out, "Oh my God Murphy!" and Murphy's replied, "What?"

"You have wings! Are you... what..."

"They're not angels, Sam," Dean told his brother, he and Connor's fingers intertwining with bright smiles on their countenances.

"Then, what are-"

"Saints, Sam. Conn and I, we were-"

Dean and Connor tuned out their siblings and focused on each other instead, foreheads pressed and eyes locked on the other's. "I think I love you, Connor MacManus."

"Aye; likewise, Dean Winchester."

Now it was Sam and Murphy who were staring at their brothers, confused but glad that their siblings had someone to share the weight on their shoulders with.

A black '67 Chevy Impala passed through Idaho unnoticed, making for Washington. Four figures took up the seats; two men in the front, two in the back. Loud rock music that sounded like Queen blasted from three open windows, mixed with laughter, talking, and Irish accents. Junk food and cigarette smoke wafted in the air in its wake, and, if you were close enough, you could see two pairs of wings on the backs of the men in the rear seats, and the love in the eyes of the four of them.

The sight was lovely; sigh-inducing, almost, especially for those who knew what happened when hunters fall for saints.

They are saved.

END.


End file.
